#surrendertodreamsofsupernatural

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: You and Dean pretend to be a couple to investigate a case, but what happens when things start to get a bit too real?

Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut

Content: no Y/N, fake relationship, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, 10998 words

Chapters:

1 - My Bloody Valentine - 1011 words

2 - Just Married - 904 words

3 - Cold Feet - 1783 words

4 - Sweet Wine and Sour Grapes - 1254 words

5 - Bubbling Over - 1747 words

6 - Hot and Bothered - 3244 words smut

The bombshell Dean is chatting up smirks up at him, saying something that causes his signature grin to stutter a bit, green eyes wide, lips parted. It's cute, and she clearly agrees. He's definitely scoring tonight. 

You tear your eyes away, opting to look at Sam's judging face. It’s difficult to say which is worse.

"I am not pathetic," You say before taking a long sip of your lackluster margarita. Dean still teases you every time about your preference for “frilly” drinks, which is pretty much anything other than beer or whiskey to him. 

It's probably why you still haven't given up on them yet. Anything to get a moment of his attention, right? Even if it’s only a teasing comment about your bad tastes.

You really are pathetic.

"You should say something. If not for you, then for me. I beg of you."

Sam's sass makes you giggle. It's so easy to tell that he's a youngest child, even with his ginormous stature. It lives in all of his mannerisms.

"Never gonna happen." 

You glance back over at Dean and purse your lips when you see the two love, well, lustbirds making out against the bar. You can’t help that bitter feeling of jealousy that bubbles up within you. You chase it down with a bite of lime.

"Why the hell not?" Sam is exasperated by this game of yours at this point. He'd figured you out almost a year ago, which is kind of an achievement for you considering how long you've been pining after the older Winchester brother. And how goddamn nosy the younger one is.

Dean, of course, had no clue. Sam always was the brighter of the two.

"Cause I don't do casual. And Dean only does casual."

Sam is just about to speak up, words of defense for his brother bubbling over his tongue only to pop when the devil himself starts bounding over to your booth.

"Nice catch, casanova," You greet amicably and quickly enough to cover the obvious pause in conversation. Dean doesn't catch it. His mind is elsewhere, specifically hovering by the bar’s front door and inspecting her nails.

"I know right," He grins, all googly-eyed and smiley. If you weren't so good at playing pretend you'd probably falter at his boyish excitement. There’s something about that smile that always melts you.

"Look, we're gonna head out so, ya know, don't wait up." Dean is already backing away, unaffected by Sam rolling his eyes. "And remember, buddy system." He points sternly at the two of you.

You shoot him two thumbs-ups and briefly wonder if you being Sam's back-up babysitter is connected to the sheer amount of nights that end just like this one.

When Dean's finally back with the brunette lingering at the entrance you shoot Sam a look, vaguely gesturing in the direction Dean went.

"Okay, maybe he doesn't have the best track record in the world, but you never know. I mean, he adores you." The defense is weak and lacking sources. Not Sam’s best.

You squint at him. "He still calls me kid, Sam."

Maybe that wouldn't be the case if you hadn't met the Winchesters when you were only a preteen, if you hadn't been the exact same age as Dean's kid brother. But you had and you are, and even though Dean was just old enough to drive a car at the time, you were just another kid for him to take care of.

"Look, I get you're trying to help, Sam, but Dean and I would never happen. And I've long accepted that." 

You are not selling the whole “I’m not pathetic” thing.

Sam raises a brow.

"I'm not beating myself up over it. I'm okay. I promise." You try your best at an open and earnest expression, but you can tell it isn’t really winning Sam over.

Still, most of what you're saying is true. It hurts a hell of a lot less than when you first realized you loved Dean, when you still had hopes that he'd wake up and want you. Just you.

That didn't mean it didn't sometimes get the best of you. There were times when you got too in your head comparing yourself to the beautiful girls Dean took back to the motels, when he flirted with every waitress but never once looked your way. 

Most of the time that knot in your throat could be eased by the reminder that even if he wanted you, it would never be the all-in love you craved. It would be carnal. Empty.

But sometimes you think even that would be enough, if it was him.

Sam isn't convinced. You can tell by the steady furrow of his brow and the slight pout of his lips, like he's seen right through to your real thoughts. You're too much of an open book for your own good.

"I'd rather have him as a friend than lose him entirely, Sam. And I would lose him." You hope the new method, the more desperate, more vulnerable method, will make Sam give you some peace. It doesn't work, obviously. He's as stubborn as you.

"You wouldn't lose him. Dean wouldn't cut you out for something like that," Sam defends and he's right about that at least.

"He'd be walking on eggshells every second he's around me. He'd be so afraid to hurt me that he'd ice me out. God, Sam, that would be so much worse than him just kicking me to the curb." Your cool facade falls off with the fracturing in your voice as you practically start pleading with Sam. Dean can’t know.

This time he's silent. Sam knows better than you that when it comes to emotion Dean is way more inclined to sidestep the issue than approach it head on. No chick flick moments.

"I'm sorry." The words are loaded on his tongue. Sorry for overstepping. Sorry you have to go through this. Sorry my brother is the way he is.

"Hey, don't be so depressing." You push his arm off the table, hunting for a smile, from both you and him. "Hell, maybe he'll wisen up one day and realize there's more to life than working on cars and chatting up girls."

He scoffs and you grin. It's sort of a joke the way you say it, but you also can't help but be pathetic sometimes.

Maybe Dean will want more one day. And maybe one day, it'll be you like it's always been him.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: You've always loved Dean, but Sam might need you more.

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Content: no Y/N, alternating POVs, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, (eventual) emotional infidelity, 25943 words

Chapters:

1 - Late Night Calls - You - 1255 words

2 - Long Haul Drives - You - 1235 words

3 - Whispered Conversations - You - 811 words

4 - Watchful Eyes - You - 900 words

5 - Shared Beds - Dean - 843 words

6 - Steady Hands - You - 893 words

7 - Reluctant Persuasions - Dean - 945 words

8 - Begging Forgiveness - Sam - 699 words

9 - Regretful Words - You - 1224 words

10 - Old Friends - Dean - 1012 words

11 - Odd People - You - 1182 words

12 - Unsuspecting Victims - You - 986 words

13 - Unsevered Ties - Dean - 852 words

14 - Rookie Mistakes - You - 1044 words

15 - Relinquished Chances - Dean - 866 words

16 - Swapping Places - Sam - 1109 words 7/22

17 - Hollowed Hearts - You - 1105 words 7/24

18 - Happy Futures - Dean - 745 words 7/26

19 - Lingering Feelings - You - 671 words 7/29

20 - Looming Losses - You - 1107 words 7/31

21 - Seeing Clearly - Sam - 695 words 8/2

22 - Greatest Fears - Dean - 1251 words 8/5

23 - Seeing All Sides - Sam - 650 words 8/7

24 - Greatest Hopes - You - 920 words 8/9

25 - Hard Truths - Dean - 1010 words 8/12

26 - Hopeful Tomorrows - You - 1353 words 8/14

You bring up your hand to caress his face, and he leans into your touch, skin warm under your still-damp fingertips. “I’m serious, Dean. I’m here, in my right mind, and I want you. I’ve wanted you for a while.”

“Promise?” he pleads.

“Promise.” You press a gentle kiss to his lips, which he eagerly returns. You grin into his mouth. “Now then.”

You push Dean back onto the bed, and he allows himself to fall with a bounce onto the patchwork-style duvet. You climb onto his lap, finding his lips once more while the water still clinging to your skin sinks into the fabric of his clothes and the bed. Hands make quick, blind work of his belt before tossing it to the floor where his jacket and overshirt sit discarded from earlier kisses.

“Have I told you how good you look in just a T-shirt? Always gets me so worked up when you take off those damn layers,” you say. 

Dean grins and lets out a breathy, disbelieving laugh. “Want me to keep it on, then? Not my usual style,” he teases.

“Absolutely not,” you say, pulling the thing up in one swift movement, leaving his broad, smooth chest bare for your admiration. Your hands run freely along his skin, tracing freckles and healed scars. He leans back on his arms to give you room. So many years of watching him from a distance, and now he’s fully at your fingertips. His breath catches and skips as you graze particularly sensitive skin: the curve of his neck, the edges of his nipples, the trail of hair leading down.

Your eyes come back up to the face you’ve learned inside and out over years of study. A curious fingertip along the ends of his lashes causes his eyelids to flutter. “You’re so pretty, Dean.”

“Well, I—” He clears his throat of his flustered tone and smirks. “Didn’t realize you were so obsessed with me, sweetheart.”

You kiss up the side of his neck. “I think we both know which one of us is the obsessed one,” you purr and rock your hips across him where he is hard and waiting, creating a delicious friction for both of you. He chokes on his breath with a weak groan. “You always get this easily excited?”

He scoffs. “If you had this view, you’d be the same way.” One hand, large and calloused, comes up to run along your side, cupping under your breast and drifting down the curve of your hip until it rests on your thigh. His eyes follow the languid movement of his hand and then his thumb as it wanders your inner thigh. A smirk forms on his face when your hips jerk at the bold, exploring finger nearly grazing your dripping, eager cunt. “You always get this easily excited?”

“Oh, shut up.”

His eyes glint. “I know a good way for you to shut me up.”

“Yeah? Do tell.”

His hands grip you by the waist and pull your chest to his mouth. Lips latch onto your nipples, kissing and sucking while his tongue twirls in circles, trading off one for the other. Your breath falls in pants, and your hips move instinctively back and forth, craving some release from the building tension in your core. Dean detaches from your breasts, and his hands run soothingly up and down the expanse of your back, holding you up as he kisses his way down until he finally gives in and lies on his back. He stares up at you, waiting, hands having drifted down your legs.

“Come here, sweetheart. Let me taste you,” he says, hooking his fingers into the crooks of your knees.

You oblige, using his chest to support you as you shift down his body. You leave a soft kiss on his lips before you finally rest your shins on either side of his head. His hands come up behind you, squeezing your ass appreciatively before sinking to a hold on your upper thighs.

“Hope you’re a good swimmer,” you tease, and he laughs, sending sweet, cool air across your wet cunt. You let him be the one to pull you down to his tongue.

“God, yes,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering closed as his tongue instantly finds your clit, sliding over it in smooth, firm circles. Your hand finds purchase in his short hair as you grind on his face while he works. He holds his tongue firm and flat to aid you. Then, you ride his nose while his tongue circles your entrance tentatively before dipping into you with warm, shallow thrusts. Dean groans against your skin when you pull his hair, and it sends sickening vibrations through its wake. He comes home to your clit, pressing sweet kisses to it as he catches his breath.

You look down at him, and as though he senses you looking, his lashes open to reveal his glittering, green eyes. “So pretty, baby,” you whisper. The corners of his eyes turn up, but his smile remains preoccupied between your thighs.

His hands lock your hips in place as he moves from lapping to sucking. The inversion of pressure on your clit rids you of the strength to sit up straight, and you fall forward onto your free hand, moaning like an animal in heat.

“Dean!” you cry out as warning or pleading. He doesn’t stop, and you don’t want him to even when the pleasure becomes so unbearably intense you don’t even have the mind to rock your hips anymore.

In this new position, one of his hands falls from your thigh to trail around to your exposed cunt. Mouth still sucking your clit, a single finger dips inside of you, gentle and slow. It reaches deeper than your own ever have, and it’s like finally finding that missing piece. Another joins in the gentle thrusts in and out, working you open as you fall apart on his tongue.

“Fuck, Dean!” you moan. Your body tenses as it approaches its precipice. Dean’s mouth loosens on your tortured clit, moving between sweet, firm laps and mindbreaking suction. “Oh god, please. Please, baby,” you whimper. He groans in response. The hand still holding you squeezes your thigh.

“Yes, yes! Dean!” you scream as the pressure in your body releases in a hot wave of pleasure. You tremble and convulse while your orgasm blows through you, and Dean carries you down with slowed motions. Your moans weaken into pants until you have no strength left and you have to give in, rolling over Dean to lie breathless on your back, shaking and sated.

Dean rolls over to join you, hand latching onto your hip and lips pressing kisses anywhere he can reach as he climbs up to lie beside you, resting on his arm. You can’t speak. Weak sighs fall from your lips as he kisses your neck and jaw.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he whispers. You hum, grabbing the hand that he’s rested on your stomach and squeezing. Your head turns to him, and you gladly accept the kiss that follows. He is tangy with your arousal but sweet with his gentleness.

“You’re a messy eater,” you say finally. Dean laughs, forehead pressed to yours.

“I think that’s more your fault than mine,” he says, pulling away to wipe his face clean with the back of his hand.

“Nuh-uh.”

You kiss away the smile that forms on his face, then kiss a couple of his freckles for good measure.

“You’re still wearing your jeans,” you note, tugging on his belt loop.

“I was pretty distracted. And I wasn’t sure you’d want to keep going,” Dean says, eyeing your hand as it trails along his waistband.

Your fingers find the button of his jeans, undoing it with ease. “Trust me. I want the whole package,” you whisper.

“Oh, I bet you do.” He smirks until you wipe the expression off his face by dipping your hand into his pants and cupping his hard, neglected cock. He’s been so patient.

“I’ve been so unfair, haven’t I?” you purr, palming him through his underwear.

“You sat on my face. I had the time of my life. I’d say that’s pretty fair,” he grunts.

“Dean?” you say, pausing your movements.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Take your pants off.”

“Right.”

Dean slides off the bed, reaching first into his pocket for his wallet. You shift to the center of the bed, settling on the numerous pillows provided while you watch him dig a condom out of his wallet and tuck it safely between his teeth while he removes the rest of his clothes. One thing about Dean, he’s always prepared.

Across years of dreaming about Dean, you always assumed he would be large, but it’s another thing to properly see his cock, fully erect and leaking. He tears the wrapper with his teeth and goes to remove the condom from its foil.

“Let me do it?” you ask.

Dean obeys your wish without pause, climbing back onto the bed with foil in hand. Not one to waste an opportunity, he kisses up your body as he comes to settle between your legs. He tucks the torn wrapper into your hand.

“All yours, sweetheart.”

The words are all you’ve ever wanted to hear from Dean in just the wrong context. Still, you take the condom from its sleeve and hold it to his tip. Dean hisses through his teeth as you gingerly roll the rubber down his shaft and groans when you pump him twice for good measure.

You pull him down for one more long kiss, hands locking around the back of his neck. Your body arches up into his, less patient than your mind is being.

“You ready?” Dean says, pulling away to look into your eyes properly. He tucks a wet strand of hair away from your forehead.

You open your legs wider and shift your hips before you nod.

“I’ll go slow,” he says, and you would’ve smiled if he didn’t soon after align his cock to your entrance and begin to push inside you. His forehead presses to yours again, and you both let out shaky breaths with slack jaws as you feel each other for the first time. He’s warm somehow even through the condom, and his size strains your walls even with his gentle pace.

“Are you okay?” he asks in a pinched tone when he sinks in all the way.

You nod. “Yeah, I’m okay. Are you okay?”

“Feel like I might pass out. Your pussy is divine.” He grins.

“Divine?” You laugh, which makes him laugh, too.

“I’m going to move now, alright?” You nod.

He starts with slow, deep thrusts that you feel to your very core. Soon, the strain ebbs away, and you swirl your hips as he moves, matching his pace and drawing sweet groans from his lips. He takes one of your hands from his neck and presses it to the bed, intertwining your fingers with his own.

“Feel so good, sweetheart. Better than I ever dreamed,” he groans into your ear as he gradually begins to pick up speed, still hitting deep with each thrust. You hook one leg around him and dig your nails into his neck to bring him closer still. Moans slip from your mouth, each louder than the last. Already warmed up from your first orgasm, a second is eager to join when he sucks and bites at the skin on your neck and chest while his free hand teases your breasts.

“Faster?” you whine.

“My girl needs more?” My girl. You nod. “‘Course, baby. Anything.”

His hips start to jerk into you. The hand that has been swirling and pinching your nipples slips behind your back to arch your hips to his whims. He knows his angles, clearly, because when he tilts you he reaches a whole new level.

“Right there, Dean. Right there,” you moan. He kisses you through his smile.

“That’s right. Open up for me,” he whispers. His hand squeezes yours where he still has it pressed to the bed. “That’s a good girl. So sweet for me.”

You whimper at his praises, bringing him back in for a kiss. He kisses back sloppily as his own pleasure begins to override his control. 

“I’m getting close, sweetheart,” he admits, but you can tell well enough by the way his thrusts become more sporadic with each pass.

“Me, too, baby,” you say, panting. Your body falls into that telltale tension. Your fingers burrow in his hair, clenching tight around the strands. Dean groans into your mouth.

His hand releases from your hip now and instead moves between your legs. You gasp as his fingers find your clit, and your eyesight goes blurry.

“Eyes on me, okay? I want to see you,” he says, kissing your brow to encourage your focus back to him. “So pretty.”

It’s all so much. His words, his eyes, his fingers, his cock. You’ve never felt this good before.

Suddenly, the tension snaps, and your cunt spasms and clenches around Dean’s hard cock as your orgasm bleeds through you. Your thighs lock around his hips involuntarily, and a chorus of his name flows from your mouth.

“That’s right, sweetheart. So good for me. That’s it,” he coos between alternating kisses on your forehead, cheeks, and neck, slowing his hand’s movements on your clit as you come down from your high.

He groans louder, voice pitching as he grows closer to his own climax. He whimpers your name into your neck, and his hand freezes entirely from its steady attention to your clit to clench around your hip.

“I love—” His breath seizes, sucking back in through his teeth like it can take the words with it. His hips stutter, and he stays hidden in your neck as he tries to reestablish his pace, like nothing has happened.

“Dean,” you whisper, slipping your hand around to push his head back where you can see his face. His eyelids are squeezed tightly shut, and he bites his lip so hard the plush pink has turned white. “I love you.”

His eyes open suddenly, and his jaw falls open in a shocked groan, hips stuttering once more as he registers your words.

“It’s alright, baby,” you whisper, kissing his lips.

The fervor returns to his thrusts, delightfully overstimulating.

“I love you,” he says, eyes shining as he pounds into you and squeezes your hand.

You squeeze back. “I love you.” He cries out at your words, loud and untempered. “Come for me, baby.” You clench around his cock.

His hips jerk and spasm as he comes with a choked moan. He kisses you through his orgasm, slowing his thrusts until he reaches that original gentle pace. Finally, when he’s sated, he presses his lips to your forehead and whispers “I love you” one more time before pulling out with a shared whimper and falling onto his back. He quickly disposes of the condom and pulls you over to lie on his chest without a moment wasted.

You listen to his heart as it calms under your head while his hands idly run along your back. The words that have been lying in wait on your tongue since his confession by the bath finally spill over. “Why have you never made a move before?”

“You’ve always been off limits,” he says, trailing his fingers up and down your spine.

You pick up your head to look at him. He’s already looking at you. “Off limits?”

“You’re dangerous.” You scoff. “I can’t just fuck things up with you. I meet a girl on the road, and she decides she’s done with me, I can just leave her in Kansas or Utah or wherever. If I scare you off, I have to live with that screw up forever. Watch you moving on, falling in love with somebody else, knowing it could’ve been me. It was better just to leave you alone.” He clicks his tongue and smiles. “Guess, I’m really screwed now, huh?”

“So screwed,” you say, pulling yourself up to kiss him again.

“I’m going to run another bath, okay?” You nod and watch as he pads over to the still-full tub and drains the water. His back muscles ripple under his skin as he messes with the settings. When it’s mostly full again he comes back to carry you over.

The appeal of the large, open bathtub makes sense now as you bathe again with him beside you in the water. You shampoo and condition his hair with way too much product than is needed for the short strands. He kisses you as thanks. He “helps” you clean yourself purely for the privilege of touching you more. 

You dry off properly and put on your pajamas before getting in the bed this time, but only after you change the dirty sheets together. Turns out there’s a surplus in a nearby drawer with various woodsy or romantic designs. Dean insists on helping dry your hair, so you let him as you both sit on the pine tree bedspread. His movements are awkward but incredibly gentle. When he’s satisfied, he pulls you under the covers, and you hold each other as you drift to sleep.

His slowed heart rate has almost lulled you to sleep when you realize something is off. Even with the heater on and the heavy comforter, Dean, who is usually like a walking furnace, is freezing cold. You run your hand along his bare chest, but his skin is soft and dry from a fresh bath.

“Dean.” You shake him back awake. He comes to slowly, smiling when he sees you. “Dean, you’re freezing.”

His brow furrows like the very thought is unheard of to him, but he nods with half-shut eyes, squeezing your hand on his chest before he rises from the bed. He blindly reaches for his shirt on the floor before you realize too late what’s happening.

“Dean!”

Suddenly, he lifts in the air like he’s been strung up. A grunt is ripped from his throat as he reaches for his neck like something has grabbed him, and that’s when she appears.

Her hair is long and slick with ice, hiding her features as it crowds her face. She wears a buttoned, long-sleeve white shirt that is soaked through and a deep navy skirt that drips onto the floor. In one pale hand, she has Dean suspended by his neck.

Viola Lloyd.

“Dean!” you shout, climbing out of the bed yourself, but before you can touch the ground Viola juts out her free hand and you go flying backward. You slam into the wall with a crack that might have come from the wood or your ribs. Your breath is stolen from your lungs at the sudden impact, and wheezes fall from your lips in a panic as you fail to catch your breath. Using the bedframe as support, you pull yourself up to see over it.

You just barely catch a glimpse of Dean as he’s carried through the open door and into the slate-black winter’s night.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: You’ll never tell Dean how you feel because he’ll never settle for you. That is, until he realizes he’s just as desperately in love as you are.

Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Content: no Y/N, friends to lovers, mutual pining, canon-typical violence, 8418 words

Chapters:

1 - Casanova - You - 1120 words

2 - One Day - Dean - 693 words

3 - Changed - You - 546 words

4 - Loverboy - Dean - 502 words

5 - Gone Wrong - You - 1567 words

6 - Eyes Closed - Dean - 796 words

7 - Underwater - You - 83 words

8 - Lifeline - Dean - 524 words

9 - Eyes Open - You - 936 words

10 - No Better Time - Dean - 857 words

“Uh, hey,” he says. Uncertainty coats the usually smooth tone of his voice. It’s so incredibly different from the Dean you know, but what’s important is there’s no pain in his timbre, no wound audible by a grit in his voice. The fact of it cools the panic that had prematurely begun to bubble beneath your skin. It’s not uncommon for Dean to call you at late hours, but it’s also not common enough that you don’t worry each time it happens. You take in a calming breath, hoping he doesn’t hear it over the line.

“What’s up?” you ask casually, although you’re sure he can intuit the concern hidden there even with your efforts to maintain your composure. From the years spent together, he knows how to read the nuances of your voice just as well as you do his.

“I woke you, right?” he states more than asks. The fact is more than obvious from the rasp lingering in your throat.

“It’s all right,” you say, handing off the forgiveness he doesn’t ask for outright. You know that what he needs before he reveals the purpose behind calling you so late is to know he’s not a burden.

“Are you in town?”

“Yeah. We just finished up a hunt this morning. Yesterday morning,” you correct when you catch a glimpse of the clock. 2:11 AM.

“I’m—” he starts before clearing his throat, “Can I see you?”

Always is the answer your brain jumps to, but always is too strong, so you say, “Of course.”

“Okay,” he says casually, although there’s a relief in the word that isn’t casual at all. “I’m about ten minutes out.”

“Text me when you’re here.”

“Yeah,” he responds, both in agreement and as goodbye. The line falls dead, and you unfurl yourself from your bed to throw on a cardigan over the thin shirt and shorts you wore to sleep. Then, you sit on the edge of your mattress for the next ten minutes, unmoving and impatient as you wait for him to arrive.

Eventually, your phone buzzes with a message, though you don’t bother to check it as you slip from the bed. You tiptoe through your house, each step especially careful for fear of waking anyone as you pad to the front door. Your feet slide into some slippers tucked aside in the entryway before you escape into the cool night.

The sleek, black Impala he inherited from John is parked at the end of the driveway. Its metal curves shine under the moonlight, highlighting it to you like a guiding lighthouse. Dean is posted on the hood, staring up at the stars and allowing them to illuminate the panes of his perfect face. His head turns to you at the sound of rustling grass under your shoes as you approach. Suddenly self-conscious under his gaze, you close your cardigan tighter around your body and smooth over your hair.

Dean smiles through a soft chuckle, something that doesn’t reach his shadowed eyes. He looks down at his boots while you settle next to him on the hood. The chilled metal stings where it meets your bare skin, but you refrain from flinching.

“Sammy’s gone,” he says suddenly.

Your eyes pop open in alarm. Of all the things you would’ve considered, this was not one of them.

“Gone?” you repeat. There are so many implications to the word, and none of them good. Even so, when you glance at Dean, his expression is cool.

“He left us,” he continues, voice constricting around the words. You notice that although he tries to smooth over his features, his jaw is tightly set.

“Got into Stanford,” he scoffs with awe that’s tainted with bitterness. “Didn’t even know he was applying to schools.” He shakes his head dismissively, and a dark laugh sputters from his mouth. His bottom lip trembles before he draws the betraying thing between his teeth. His whole torso lifts with a deep breath as he stares off to the left, away from you. 

You reach out for him, and his arm is a tight coil when you grasp it. Your touch triggers a clipped sigh that shortly gives way to a full-body release. The tension in his muscles falls away like sand through your fingers. His head droops back to look at the ground before his feet.

“Dad’s a fucking time bomb. He disappeared not too long after Sam did.”

The fact that John left Dean alone to pick up the pieces pisses you off, but you don’t let it show on your face. You just occupy yourself by soothing your hand up and down Dean’s arm until the intimacy of the motion warms your cheeks. You tuck both hands between your thighs, like if they were locked away the temptation would join them in their cell.

“Couldn’t get right, all by myself,” he says with a jerking shrug.

You bump his shoulder with yours. “That’s what you got me for.”

Dean looks down at you with a soft smile and somber eyes. “Yeah,” he says with a soft bump back.

He sighs again, staring at his feet as he adjusts them on the asphalt. The gears turning in his head are visible, but he shakes away whatever thought was brewing. A frown lingers on his lips.

You lean forward, forcing him to catch your gaze. “You can always come to me.” It’s a risk saying it. Anything too intimate, too sentimental, has a habit of scaring Dean away. But it’s true enough that you take the chance.

His features smooth over, and his lips part as he breathes in. “Right,” he agrees, although his eyes flicker away in a flash like he doesn’t quite believe it.

He’s a stubborn bastard.

“Do you want to come inside?” you suggest, feeling the goosebumps forming on your legs. You cross one over the other, hoping you can warm yourself a little.

“Can we stay out here for a bit?”

Whatever you need is too much, so you say, “Sure.”

“Unless, you’re cold.”

You shake your head, but refrain from speaking. Any denial that would come out would be a blatant lie, and Dean knows all your tells.

He laughs, seeing through you anyway, and lifts his arm in invitation. You scootch closer without a word, letting him tug you into his warmth. You lean your head against him, and he lets his fall onto yours. His hand runs up and down your arm, ruffling the sleeve of your cardigan.

“Thanks,” he says into your head, “For being here.”

I’ll always be here for you is too true, so you say, “‘Course.”

You allow the familiar ache of something that can never be spoken sink into your skin and let his painful embrace remain until the moment he inevitably pulls away.

Next Chapter

Surrender to Dreams Taglist: @vampire-kissi3s Supernatural Taglist: @mrrayjay Dean Winchester Taglist: @itzpixiebabe

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: A one night stand has Dean Winchester considering becoming an honest man.

Genre: Fluff, Self-Inflicted Angst, Smut

Content: no Y/N, Dean POV, one night stands, strangers to lovers, Reluctant Wingman!Sam, canon-typical violence, 9432 words

Chapters:

1 - Monster of the Week - 1526 words

2 - Georgia Peaches - 1853 words

3 - Falling Into Place - 1513 words

4 - Sweet Like Candy - 2606 words smut

5 - Under My Skin - 768 words

It’s not the bar that catches Dean’s attention as he pulls into the gravel parking lot. It’s the car taking up one of the far spots to the right. He can’t resist pulling up beside it, eagerly drinking the view of it through the window as he parks.

“Hey, beautiful,” Dean says when he steps out onto the gravel.

It’s a classic Cadillac Eldorado in fucking perfect condition, complete with a beautiful red body, white roof, and red interior. Dean walks around the car, holding every instinct he has to caress the smooth paint as he takes in its beauty. The plate steals his eye for a moment as he swings around the back. It’s from Georgia instead of Tennessee. People who drive muscle cars don’t usually take them out of state, especially to Nowhereville. 

Unless you’re Dean Winchester.

“Stop flirting with the car and come on already,” Sam snaps.

“It’s a nice car,” Dean mumbles.

“Sure, but we’ve got things to do, remember? Locals aren’t going to question themselves,” Sam says. Dean has no interest in talking to anybody other than the owner of this car right now, but he follows Sam into the bar anyway.

The crowd is pretty nice for a small town, but that’s understandable since it happens to be a Friday night. Dean surveys the patrons, but one in particular stands out as soon as he steps in.

You’ve got to be the hottest woman Dean has ever laid eyes on, and it would still be true if you didn’t happen to be posed so pretty across a pool table as you line up a shot. The Daisy Duke-style cutoff jeans coating your ass stretch at the curve of it as you bend over the table, and the low cut tank top you’re wearing is absolutely criminal from this angle as it hangs from your chest. You catch Dean’s gaze as he steps in, probably because he stops dead in his tracks as soon as he sees you. A smile forms around the little sucker you’ve got tucked between your teeth, and you give him a wink before sinking two balls in one move.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

“And here I thought I’d never live to see Heaven,” Dean murmurs.

Sam punches him in the shoulder. “Eyes on the prize man. We’re working.”

“Oh, my eyes are on the prize all right,” Dean says, watching you even as he follows Sam. You stare down the guy you’re playing against with a cool grin, smug like you know he has no chance of beating you. After that shot, Dean’s money is on you.

Sam scoffs. “I think I preferred it when you were flirting with inanimate objects.”

Dean plays nice and actually questions the locals like Sam wants, even though the Dean in him wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into you. He learns much of the same shit from much of the same people. Noah was such a sweet, wholesome square until he showed up acting like Sonny Corleone, lighting up at anyone that looked at him funny. Dean tells Sam just as much when the two reconvene at a booth with a couple beers.

“So, we’ve still got nothing,” Sam says smartly. “Looks like your little lead was a dead end.”

“Meh meh meh,” Dean mocks before bringing his beer up to his lips. It’s sour as it goes down, but still hits the spot well enough.

“Guess we’re just going to have to head to the library, and see if we can’t find any clues in the local lore,” Sam murmurs, sliding his finger around the rim of the drink Dean bought him that he’s yet to take a sip from. “Maybe there’s a pattern we’re missing.”

“There’s no pattern. At least, not the kind you’re looking for,” says a voice to Dean’s left.

A slow grin builds on Dean’s face when he sees you standing at the end of the table, a flannel shrugged on over the tank top and manicured hands tucking cash into a leather wallet. He looks back at the pool table and sees the guy you played against looking sour. You hustled him.

You’re fucking perfect.

“Excuse me?” Sam asks, offended.

Dean preens when you sit down beside him in his booth. Sam might be making a stank face, but Dean just won the lottery.

“I saw you boys pull up in suits to question Beth Laurens. Feds don’t usually drive muscle cars,” you say to Sam before turning to Dean with a smirk. “Nice ride, by the way.”

“Thanks,” he says.

“Since you’re trying to step into my case, I figured we could do introductions,” you shrug with a smile.

“You’re a hunter,” Sam states.

You nod and give your name. Dean repeats it, feeling the syllables on his tongue and catching your attention. He shakes your hand just to get a taste of your skin. “I’m Dean. This is my brother, Sam.” Sammy doesn’t look too happy about the freely-given introduction, but Dean couldn’t give a shit.

“Pleasure,” you whisper, lips forming carefully around the word in a way that has Dean twitching in his pants. “So, what have you guys got so far?”

Dean laughs. “Jack shit.”

“Dean ruined our chances of interviewing Beth when he started implying her fiance went off the deep end for fun. Doesn’t help that she wasn’t even in the mood to talk to us in the first place since she’d already presented her case to a solo agent. I’m guessing that was you,” Sam says with barely contained irritation.

You raise your hands in surrender, flashing the glitter of your painted nails under the bar’s lights. “Guilty as charged. Still, what’s the running theory?”

Sam reluctantly plays into your question, not looking at your when he says, “Someone changes personalities overnight. Sounds like a shapeshifter.”

“I’m thinking a ghoul,” you say. “This town has a history of grave robbings.”

“Huh,” Sam utters, this time taking a proper look at you. Looks like you just saved them a trip to the library. Could you get any better?

“So, dude hits a ghoul driving home for summer break, and it decides to give live meat a try,” Dean suggests.

You look at him with a cute furrow in your brow. “Hit?”

“There was evidence of an accident on the car. Busted headlight, a couple dents,” Dean elaborates, basking in your attention.

“Huh,” you hum, looking at him with soft awe. “Nice work. I didn’t catch that.”

“Uh,” Sam butts in. “It’s my nice work, actually.”

You laugh, turning back to Dean. “So, your brother’s the brains, then? Guess that makes you the brawn?” You look over his physique appreciatively.

“Beauty, obviously,” Dean corrects, gesturing to his face.

You breathe a chuckle through your grin. “Right. I should’ve known.”

Dean smiles and ignores the loud eye roll Sam gives across the table. He’s just about to say something stupid and probably sleazy when a guy stands behind you and steals your attention.

Dean can’t really hear what the guy is saying, but he can see the intentions in his eyes and it makes him wring his fist on the table.

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby,” he hears you say. His brow furrows immediately. Was he reading this wrong? “I’m all work and no play right now, but give me your number and I’ll be sure to call you up next time I stop by. How about that?”

Dean watches as you punch numbers into your phone. You spin back around when the guy walks away with a goofy grin on his face. 

“Baby?” Dean asks, trying to hide the jealousy in his voice. He’s only just met you. He doesn’t understand why he feels so territorial, other than the fact that the longer you sit with him, the more reasons he finds to like you.

“Guys tend to leave you alone when you give them a maybe instead of a no. Calling them ‘baby’ sweetens the pot,” you say. He watches as you hit delete on the newly-created contact. The tension in his body mends.

“So, what’s your next move?” Dean asks, wanting to steal more of your time.

“Well, where can you keep dead bodies without raising too much alarm? I’m guessing one of the old mausoleums in this town has been hijacked,” you explain. A lightbulb goes off in your eyes, and you look between him and Sam. “And you know what? The cemetery with all the robbings? You have to drive right past it to get here from Illinois. I think your theory’s right.” You hum again, with a small, satisfied smile. Then, with a shrug, you push up from the table, and Dean’s heart crumples. “I better get going. Big day tomorrow.”

“Wait? What cemetery is it?” Sam asks.

“Oh, I can’t give you all the answers. You’re my competition.” You wink and start to walk off. 

Dean clambers out after you. “We should head out, too,” he says. Sam throws his hands up in disbelief. “Let me walk you out!”

You slow your steps, and when Dean slides in beside you there’s a tempered smile on your lips. He’s trying to figure out what to say when he realizes what car you’re walking to.

“That’s yours?”

You walk over to the driver side of the Eldorado and caress the top. “Inherited from my dad. She’s a bitch to keep in shape and she guzzles gas like hell, but she’s worth it.”

Dean imagines you working on the car, smears of oil coating your skin and clothes.

“You just keep getting better.”

You laugh, leaning against the car to look at Dean.

“You know, hunting is safer with a partner,” he adds.

You shrug. “Maybe so. But partners are pretty hard to come by, especially good ones.”

Dean kicks the gravel, pouting. “So, is that a no to teaming up?”

You smile. “Depends. Are you going to let me call the shots, big guy?”

“I’d let you do anything you want,” he answers.

You shake your head, grinning and taking a new sucker out of the breastpocket of your flannel. “All right, then. Meet me tomorrow night at Cloverfield Cemetery,” you say, opening the car door and climbing in.

“Romantic,” he muses just before you reach to close the door.

Your laugh echoes through the opening. “Good night, Dean.”

“Good night!”

He watches as your car pulls out of the parking lot and hears the crumbling of gravel beside him. “You sure she’s not the ghoul?” Sam asks.

“Come on,” Dean whines, shuffling over to the driver side of the Impala. “She’s too hot to be a ghoul.”

“Not sure that’s how it works.”

Next Chapter